


cupping the warmth in your hands (and protect it)

by isuilde



Series: home [1]
Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, chikage not quite so subtly protecting his new family, pretty much everyone in Mankai Company, that’s it that’s the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: Chikage promises to protect his place to come home, and sometimes he overreacts.Just sometimes.





	cupping the warmth in your hands (and protect it)

**Author's Note:**

> I was determined to finish my first A3! fics before I turn older and I barely managed to do so (i mean that defines my life right 人生はいつもギリギリ) . So here it is with all its flaws. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> A bit of a confession: Unlike the other three new boys, it took a long time before I accepted Chikage. I think mostly because I wasn’t able to forgive his betrayal at first. But then by the tsukimi event, I realized that without knowing it, Chikage had managed to blend into an irreplaceable part of Mankai Company that I love so much, and by the time the second anniversary rolled around, I was able to look at him and think, god, Chikage, you have repented more than enough. Please be happy with the others, I love you.
> 
> This fic is written with thaose thoughts in mind. I hope Utsuki Chikage is happy, and will always be, as long as he has Mankai boys with him.

When the Director brings him home, Chikage makes a promise to protect the company.

He doesn’t think much about it—half of it is guilt, of course, sending signals to his brain that he needs to repent, needs to make up for almost ruining the company. The other half is perhaps relief, because he’d thought he’d have nothing left once all matters with Decem— _ _Hisoka__ , there is no more December that August had held as dear as April, and he thinks it’s probably for the best. And yet.

And yet, somehow, there is a place for him to belong. Or at least try to, that is, if he can fit in.

But he’d made a promise to protect—this place where the Director laughs and Hisoka sleeps, where Tsuzuru writes stories for everyone and him so that they could live a different life, however fleeting, on the stage. This place where Omi welcomes everyone with dishes befitting of kings, where Sakuya and Muku look up at his magic tricks with eyes sparkling brighter than the stars. Where Tsumugi’s hands lead flowers to bloom while Sakyo grunts his way through financial papers and budget arguments with Yuki to keep all of them also bloom beautifully on stage.

And well, sometimes. Just sometimes. Chikage overreacts.

 

——- **o0o** ——-

Hanasaki Academy, inexplicably, feels kind of nostalgic. Which is weird, because it’s not like Chikage has ever gone to an actual public school if he wasn’t on assignments.

Director would have probably argued that even those assignments had made up who he is, now.

And perhaps that’s why the sunrays lighting up the hallways feel so familiar. Or the puff of chalkdust when Citron taps the eraser against the blackboard, laughter ringing freely to the corners of the classroom. Or the empty classrooms and the rows of tables and chairs that he could see from the classroom’s windows facing the hallways. Nostalgic doesn’t seem quite the right word, but nonetheless, there is familiarity—a knowledge that he’d gone past a similar scenery in his life. Not here, somewhere, but still familiar.

“I don’t think we should wander around carelessly,” he says airily, a half-hearted attempt for damage control because Citron is now trying to press the blackboard eraser against Tsuzuru’s cheek. “The school might be open because it’s sports festival day, but we don’t exactly have permissions to explore.”

“Don’t worry, da yo!” Citron exclaims, once again sending puffs of chalkdust everywhere. Tsuzuru’s head is lost within the chalkdust puff for a moment, and Chikage listens in amusement as the company’s playwright coughs his way out of it. “We have Sakuya here! Grandpa boy!”

Trust Tsuzuru to immediately play the straight-man. “It’s Old Boy, okay? An alumnus!” 

“Oohh, but grandpa is also old, ne!”

Sakuya laughs from where he sits on the desk by the window. “Don’t worry, Chikage-san,” he says, with a smile almost blindingly pure. “I made sure to ask my former homeroom teacher to let us in here since Citron-san wants to see what our classrooms are like.”

“Japanese schools ne!”

“Well,” Chikage says, because there is no way Citron’s excitement will be sated within the next hour of shenanigans, and anyway, Tsuzuru and Sakuya should be enough to handle him, “I’m not really interested in looking at empty classrooms, so I’m going to head back to the schoolyard and find the Director and Chigasaki. And Masumi, if his fanclub is done mobbing him.”

He leaves the other three Spring troupe members with a light wave from Sakuya and a yelp from Tsuzuru, who’s finally caught by Citron and is now having his hair dyed white with chalkdust. His phone buzzes five steps away from Sakuya’s former classroom—a message from Chigasaki: _when you’re coming back, a pocari and a can of coke, plsthx_

He clicks his tongue, and almost doesn’t recognize the fond sigh escaping his lips. “Sheeesh. He really knows how to use people, huh.”

He’s not sure where exactly the vending machine is, but he’s pretty sure there should be one around the school entrance area, because logically that’s one of the places with the highest concentration of students when they’re out of the classrooms. So he turns over to the stairs towards the entrance, steps light as he goes down the stairs, and then he hears it.

“—ybe putting nails in his shoes is going too far...? What if he gets hurt—“

“Heh, his own fault for not checking his shoes before slipping them on and stepping out.”

“Pfftt, would be hilarious to see the expressionless Usui-sama scream like a baby.”

The name gets him to pause on the last step of the stair. The rows of school lockers stand before him, and four dark heads are crowding on one of the shoe lockers over by the door. Chikage tilts his head, for a moment considering the possibility of another student with the name Usui in this school, but the doubt is dashed away when one of the boys, voice tentative, says, “but he’s a stage actor right? If he gets hurt he won’t be able to perform...”

“Geez, Sasaki, you sure care a lot about that guy, huh? What, you’re a fan?”

“He’s the reason you broke up with your girlfriend, you know? We’re doing this for you!”

“B-but I didn’t ask—“

“Aaaah?! You’re saying you don’t want our help? Huhh??”

Chikage stares, and thinks, somehow, this feels familiar too.

But that doesn’t matter now, because that confirmed his suspicion on whose shoe locker these high school boys are crowding onto—or more exactly, whose shoes they are putting nails in. Chikage exhales, softly, and reaches into his pockets for his coins.

It flies so quickly it buzzes across the air and makes a loud, violent thwack against the skull it hits. One, two, three, four successive thwacks of coins hitting the back of the boys’ head, earning Chikage a chorus of satisfyingly painful yelps. He takes the last step of the stairs and closes the distance between him and the offended-looking boys in five long, easy steps. A good look at their faces—ah.

“I see,” he hums to himself, leans a shoulder against the closest shoe locker. He knows these faces, and his brain is alreayd pulling out the information safely filed away in the back of his mind labeled with names matching these faces. “I suppose it was good that I happened to be checking out the school’s students records yesterday.”

“Haahh?!” the boy standing on the front leans forward—tall with muscles rivaling Juza’s, jaws set sturdier than Banri’s. Clearly not very bright, but then again high school students rarely are. “Who the fuck are ya, Niichan? These coins yours?”

The boy behind him crosses his arms, lean-bodied with obviously expensive wristwatch and a haughty tilt of his chin. “Better apologize now, Niichan, and maybe Takeo will let you go.”

Chikage’s eyes flit from the borrowed muscle to the seemingly rich boy. “Ah, that’s unfortunate. I can’t just let you go, see, because you seem to be planning bad things to do to Masumi, and that’s not acceptable.”

“Oh, Usui’s friend, huh?” Another borrowed muscle from the rich boy’s side, this one seemingly smarter, snickering. “Look, Niichan, we ain’t gonna hesitate to beat you up—“

“Kurozumi-kun,” Chikage smiles, leans forward, locks his eyes with the rich boy. “You should warn your father about the deals he’s making with the National Diet members. It’ll be bad if the fact that he’s giving hush money comes out to public, what with all the yakuza involved.”  He glances sideways at the other boy, who has now stopped snickering. “Ginseikai is probably not going to let the involved yakuza family get away easily.”

Three faces turning pale. “I—“ the boy called Kurozumi stutters. “What?”

“Let’s just say I have enough proof to bring your Dad to the bottom,” Chikage smiles. “Really, it’s not that hard, once the press knows. That’d jeopardize your plans for the future, absolutely smash your chance to get into the university you want. Meidai, was it? Would be hard to pay for entrance if the National Diet members bail on that deal, huh.”

“H-how do you know—“

“And Takebayashi Takeo-kun,” Chikage tilts his chin up, gaze cutting into the borrowed muscle standing at the forefront of the boys. “Should I announce to everyone at school about your incident on the school trip last year? What was it—ah,” he taps his chin with a finger. “You wet yourself on the train.”

The boy splutters. “Wha—!”

Chikage sighs. “Honestly. You’re all high school students, there’s no point to ruin yourselves for pranks. Run along, now,” he pauses, holds the boys stares, and narrows his eyes. “And don’t even think of trying to mess with Masumi, or I can guarantee your lives will be absolutely miserable.”

The four boys squeak.

Chikage watches them turn tails and run, yelling harmless curses at him out the school entrance. He shakes his head im exasperation, because high school boys, really, and reaches into Masumi’s locker to pull out the shoes, tipping them upside down and dropping the nails onto his palm. They glint sharp under the sunlight pouring in from the entrance door—he’s kind of glad he caught the pranksters before Masumi had the chance to put on his shoes again. These would have injured him.

“That was kind of over the top, Senpai,” the voice that comes from the other end of the lockers makes him start. Chikage looks up to find Chigasaki, leaning his back against one of the lockers, and the Director, sheepishly smiling at him. “They’re just high school students.”

Chikage shrugs. “I was just preventing disasters.”

“By threatening kids,” Chigasaki says with a snicker, because he is such a little shit and Chikage questions the fondness that warms him at the thought. “You realize you were threatening to ruin their lives?”

“Itaru-san,” the Director chides, though the corners of her lips are twitching up. “Chikage-san wasn’t serious.”

“I wonder,” Chigasaki’s eyes meet his. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Chikage laughs lightly. “Of course I wasn’t,” he says, putting Masumi’s shoes back in the locker, and pockets the nails. “So, a pocari and a can of coke?”

——- **o0o** ——-

There is a spread of Sumeragi Tenma on the morning paper. On the morning news. On LIME news and on Inste, and trending first on Twitter. Tenma is standing on the dining table, a toast dangling from his mouth, face a deep red that Chikage cannot tell if that’s because he’s too embarrassed or if he’s too angry.

On Chikage’s phone screen, online news platforms emblazone the words screaming out the latest news: _Sumeragi Tenma, sex tape scandal?!_ , matching the one on the TV screen under a blurry photo of a naked figure with bright orange hair bending down to kiss an obviously older woman, which Azuma is peering at with some curiosity. 

Kazunari, on Tenma’s side and sitting at the dining table, is uncharacteristically quiet when he pats Tenma on the back. “We know it’s not true.”

“I’m so—“ Tenma grits out, one hand running through his hair in frustration. “I can’t believe this! Sex tape?!”

“People who believe it don’t know you,” Yuki points out, tongue merciless even in front of Tenma’s despair, though underlining them is an attempt of comfort. “You can’t even be in the same room with the Director without stuttering, you useless actor. How are they expecting you to have sex with an older woman.”

Tenma splutters, flushes bright red. The bread dangling on his mouth falls back onto his plate. But the entire thing must be giving him more of a shock than he’d expected, because there is no protest that follows Yuki’s half-hearted insults. Instead, Tenma’s head hits the surface of the table with a small thud and a pitiful groan. “My agency is going to freak out.”

Muku looks at him worriedly. “W-will they punish you, Tenma-kun?”

“No—“ Tenma pauses, sighs. “I don’t know. I have no proof that it’s not me in the photos, and the media is going to have a field day. They might suspend me, for a while, I don’t know...”

Kumon makes a protesting sound. “But it’s not even Tenma-san!”

“It’s called damage control,” Chikage comments, finger scrolling down the news to find the source. The original article had come up on Asahi Shinbun, but the source material had come from a smaller, quickly rising news platform focusing on entertainment industry called Natalia. The photographer’s name isn’t credited, but the article’s writer is, and he thinks that’s good enough to start. “The media is going to hound Tenma, so it’s better to hide him away and keep silent for now, rather than risk any possible incident with them. It’s probably better that you don’t go anywhere today.”

Tenma groans. “I can’t, I have a photoshoot early in the morning. Igawa is picking me up in ten minutes—I feel bad that he has to deal with this.” He takes the morning paper, squints at the blurry, scandalous photo. “How did they—this photo, I don’t even remember hanging out with older actresses lately. Who is this lady, even?”

“Some peeps are really good at photo editing,” Kazunari says. “Like, really good. Could even fake the news, if you could fool the editors.”

Misumi makes a sad noise, rummaging his pockets and pulling out a King Sankaku badge. “Here, Tenma. A triangle to protect you today. Be very careful and don’t let the bad people get to you, okay...”

Cute. Chikage manages the suppress the smile threatening to tug the corners of his lips up, and looks back at the name of the article’s writer. Satou Takeshi—a name too common that it’d actually make it harder to track the actual person. But he has a thousand tricks up his sleeves for this; there was a reason Tsuzuru wrote him the role of a Charlatan for his first stage.

And so he takes his suitcase, nodding his thanks at Omi over the kitchen counter and taps Kazunari’s shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. He gets a smile for his attempt, and everyone—Kumon and Misumi the loudest—sends him out with a “Have a nice day at work!”

He doesn’t turn around. Just smiles and raises a hand to wave and says, “I’m off.”

March doesn’t sound very happy when Chikage calls her five minutes away from the dorm. _“April,”_ she says, a hint of hot steel rivaling the summer morning sun in her voice. _“You can’t expect me to keep your whereabouts safe if you contact me every now and then—“_

“I need all you have on the current Sumeragi Tenma scandal,” Chikage cuts her off, because she’s right. If he stays on the line more than a few minutes, the organization might be able to trace where he is. “And a heads-up, I’ll be taking down a news platform called Natalia this morning.”

March clicks her tongue at him. _“Fine. I’ll make sure that doesn’t interfere with anyone’s assignment.”_

And so he spends his morning multitasking between making presentation materials for a cosmetics line for their new branch in Australia and plays with the stocks for a bit. The online news platform isn’t big, so it’s almost a child’s play to shut down their entire website and crash their stocks within the first three hours of getting his hands on an actual computer. Chikage entertains the idea of hijacking their platform and maybe embarrass them some more, but he thinks that’s probably going overboard, so he just ends it with an untraced email sent to the personal email of the editor-in-chief to suggest publishing an open apology to Sumeragi Tenma and admittance that the scandal was faked.

It’s 2 PM when he watches news videos of public apology by Natalia’s editor-in-chief admitting that the scandal photo was not of Sumeragi Tenma, but an unnamed AV actor who happens to have a very similar built and hairstyle that they had mistaken as Tenma. Fans are in an uproar as they try to catch up with every update, the news platforms are running after comments from Tenma’s agency and Tenma himself—who hasn’t been seen at all today, and there are press camped out outside both of his house and the Mankai Dorm. Hisoka had sent him a LIME earlier though, telling him that they’re handling the the press at the dorm just fine, and so Chikage doesn’t worry about that.

Instead, he dials the phone number at the end of March’s report, and says pleasantly enough, “Satou Takeshi-san? Ah, my mistake, Ogawara Kou-san, I mean. Your penname provided enough challenge to track you down. I was wondering if you would like to discuss your options for the future in this... debacle, if I may say mildly.”

When he steps into the dorm’s common room that evening, it’s to a relieved Summer Troupe members crowding Tenma on the couch. They all look up when he comes in, bright eyes and bright grins and bright voices, all forming a chorus of “Welcome home!” that makes Chikage want to burrow himself into the warmth surrounding those words.

“I’m home,” he says, nodding at the Director who is leaning on the kitchen counter, tying an apron behind her back. “Looks like everyone’s in a good mood.”

“They mistook someone else for Tenma-san!” Kumon pipes up, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The one in the scandal photo wasn’t Tenma-san, they admitted it!”

“Though we all know that from the very beginning,” Kazunari laughs, elbowing Tenma gently. “Good for you, TenTen! All those reporters waiting to ambush you must have been exhausting, huh?”

Tenma, because he’s an awkward idiot who doesn’t know how to respond to emotions (not that Chikage has the right to say anything about this when he’s one himself), sticks his chin out haughtily. “That’s no big deal, obviously. They can’t bring me down that easily!”

“Tenma, so cool,” Misumi praises, though there’s obvious amusement in his words. Yuki, on the other hand, rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated noise, before raising to his feet and walking over to the kitchen counter. Setting the empty glass he has on the countertop, he peers up at Chikage curiously.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“Hm?” Chikage blinks at him. The Director makes a soft sound of chuckle, and he glances at her in confusion for a second. “I’ve seen it on the news before going home, why should I be?”

Yuki tilts his head. “You don’t think it’s curious, that everything is solved neatly within one day?”

“It would have blown over eventually anyway,” Chikage shrugs. “It’s just media excitement. We all knew it wasn’t Tenma, the truth would have come out sooner or later.”

“Mmmhm,” Yuki hums, disinterested eyes returning to the empty glass as he grabs the bottle of mugicha and pours the content into his glass. “Then maybe do something about looking so suspiciously satisfied about it, you damn elite glasses.”

Chikage starts. “Huh?”

Yuki glances back at him as he turns around, a small smile on his lips. “I said, maybe do something about that smug look, if you want to pretend that this isn’t a big deal.”

And with that, the boy walks back to join the rest of the Summer Troupe on the couch, settling back to his seat next to Muku with seemingly no care in the world. Chikage stares at him, not sure if he should be surprised or impressed, as the Director leans over the counter, one hand propping her chin, eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Thank you for the hard work, Chikage-san.”

——- **o0o** ——-

It’s late autumn, around two-thirty in the morning with Chigasaki’s muffled noises of mobile game marathon sending Chikage out of the room to get some coffee, when he stumbles into the Autumn Troupe’s emergency meeting in the common room.

Minus Azami. With Sakyo all-dressed and ready to leave, eyes sharp despite his hair still askew, the only thing that indicates he had been sleeping earlier. The rest of the troupe are gathered in a circle, the Director in the midst of them, clearly worried and anxious as they listen to Sakyo’s diatribe.

“—and when I said no one can follow me, that means no one. Absolutely no one. That includes you, Sakoda.” The young man shrinks, guilt clear all over his face.  “And if I’m not back after sunrise, alert Ginseikai.”

“But Sakyo-nii—“ Taichi whimpers, looking one second away from freaking out. He gets a glare, though, which sends him whimpering under Omi’s arm further. Sakyo sighs, then glances at the Director, and nods.

“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The Director looks absolutely torn. “Sakyo-san, isn’t it better to—I don’t know, this might be dangerous, so at least take someone with you—“

Sakyo sniffs. “I’m just going to pick up a stubborn brat. Don’t make it a big deal.”

He turns around, and that’s when Chikage catches his gaze. Sakyo just nods, steps full of purpose, and well, Chikage isn’t usually one to overreact, really, but with what he’d just seen? Might as well take some precautions. So he steps slightly closer as Sakyo walks past, close enough to brush against his arm, and murmurs, “if there’s anything—“

Sakyo flashes him a tight smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Chikage stares at his back as he disappears down the stairs, before stepping into the common room, surveying the worried looks from the rest of the members. “Do I want to know?”

Taichi makes a muffled whine into his hands while Banri groans something that sounds like “Old men needs to stop making people worry!” in exasperation. Omi, on the other hand, gives him a small smile. “Coffee, Chikage-san?”

“Please,” Chikage nods, watches Omi pat Taichi on the shoulder before leaving for the kitchen counter. The Director is wringing her hands, and next to her, Juuza looks as lost as a kitten. “Where is Sakyo-san going?”

“He’s looking for Azami,” Banri says, throwing himself onto the couch. “Another group was threatening Sakoda-san earlier and taunting Azami about it. Apparently the he thinks he needs to sneak out to give them a lesson.”

“I told him not to!” Sakoda half-wails. “But he didn’t listen and sneaked out when Aniki was asleep! I happened to come by to pick up things and noticed, and since I got scared of telling Aniki I decided to check if maybe he was sleeping over at the others’ rooms or something but—!“

The Director tugs on his sleeve urgently. “Sakoda-san! We don’t want to wake up and worry everyone!”

The way Sakoda forcefully clasps both his hands in front of his mouth to stop his wailing is actually hilarious, but Chikage knows better than to laugh now. He hums, crossing the room to sit down next to Banri. “A bunch of people are probably not asleep anyway. Tomorrow’s the weekend,” he hears the sound of the car leaving the dorm, growing fainter with the distance. That must have been Sakyo. “Does Sakyo-san know where Azami is, anyway?”

“None of us know,” Juuza says. “He didn’t say nothin’, brought his phone too.”

“And I haven’t been able to get a hold of him,” Taichi’s says, shoving his phone at Chikage, showing what looks like hundreds of unread messages. “I think he might be blocking my LIME!”

“Director,” Omi calls, his bulk settling in among them as he sets a tray full of mugs of coffee on the table. “I think I should go and follow Sakyo-san. I’m the only one wih a bike, and I can handle myself if worse comes to worst—“

“That’s probably a good idea,” Chikage nods, already tapping at his phone to access the maps. It takes a second before the signal connects to his phone, but when it does, a blinking dot appears, moving down the Veludo Station main road. He squints at it, and thinks maybe it’s better to grab his laptop from the room and set it up there. “It’s harder to recognize someone following you if they’re riding a bike, especially if they can take shortcuts.”

The Director’s eyebrows knit. “Yeah, but we don’t even know where he went—um, Chikage-san...? What... is that?”

All eyes fall onto Chikage’s phone.

“Hmm?” Chikage flicks at it, enlarging the maps. “Ah well, I guess you can call this a side hobby?”

Taichi’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he leans forward from the couch’s backside, far enough he almost tips himself over, so Chikage tilts himself sideways a bit to let him see the phone screen. “Whoa, seriously?? Chikage-san, is that a __tracker__?! That’s so cool!”

Banri smacks Taichi’s head, gently enough to not tip him over the couch completely but not so gently that it didn’t earn him a yelp. “You’re loud.”

“Sometimes I build things,” the lie comes out as easy as breathing, and Chikage has full faith that even if there are people in this group who won’t fall for it, they would at least humor him and let him keep his secrets. “I stuck one on Sakyo-san when he left earlier. It’s a good time as any to try them out. Anyway, Omi, think you can handle staying out all night with the bike?”

It’s probably a testament to how wild Omi’s old delinquent life that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash before answering. “There’s no problem.”

“Good. Bring Sakoda with you so we can alert Ginseikai anytime.” Chikage pauses, takes a breath, and looks up at the Director. “It’s okay, right? Director?”

Her smile is the push he always needs. “I believe in you, Chikage-san.”

It gives him a lump in his throat, that his throat works for a second to find his voice back. Omi, on the other hand, takes it in stride and straightens up, nodding at Sakoda. “I’ll meet you in the garage. Five minutes.”

Chikage doesn’t say anything even as his eyes follows Omi’s back, disappearing not towards the autumn troupe’s rooms but the general direction of spring troupe’s rooms instead. He turns back to his phone screen, clears his throat twice, and elbows Banri. “Be good and get me my laptop, won’t you? Chigasaki’s still up, he’ll let you know where it is.”

“Fine—“ Banri swats at him before rising to his feet. “Guess we’ll be here all night, huh. Azami’s gonna get a lot when he comes back.”

Taichi’s lips quiver. “He will, right? Sakyo-nii, too?”

Juuza places a hand on top of Taichi’s head. “It’ll be fine.”

 _ _It_ _will__ , Chikage echoes inwardly, because he simply can’t afford to let it not be fine.

And it is fine, in the end. Chikage navigates Omi to follow Sakyo from a certain distance so that they won’t get found out, which turns out to be good because once Sakyo had found Azami two hours later, the boy had managed to get into an unfair fight with a bunch of low-rank yankees. Omi had joined the fray right away while Sakoda alerted Ginseikai, and it takes about an hour to clean up everything. Sakyo comes home at five in the morning, a bone-tired Azami with a black eye and bloodied right arm in tow, followed by a fretting Sakoda and a complacent Omi.

“They had knives,” is the only explanation Azami manages to offer before Taichi jumps at him with a worried wail. Sakyo sighs heavily like he’d just finished the most annoying, mundane task ever, but the right lens of his glasses is slightly cracked and the glare he sends Chikage is half-hearted.

“Do not,” he threatens as he shoves the tracker against Chikage’s chest. Chikage welcomes it with a small smile, and Sakyo huffs before turning around and begin lecturing the rest of the autumn troupe members about not listening to him.

Well. The fact that Sakyo does not specify what it is that Chikage needs to not do—he’ll count that as a win.

——- **o0o** ——-

Chikage thinks he’s honestly not even surprised when the Director, after a incresingly panicked conversation on the phone, ends the call with a pale face and informs them, “Homare-san, Azuma-san and Tasuku-san got lost in the snowstorm...”

Tsumugi, predictably, goes white. “Oh no. Did they say anything that might tell us where..?”

The Director shakes her head. “The call got cut, and when I dialed back it just says the number is out of service area. Tasuku-san managed to say that they passed the train tracks earlier, so I think they might be around the eastern part of the hill? By the old train tracks?”

“Certainly if you go down the slope by professional route, it should pass the the old train tracks,” Guy says thoughtfully. “But if they continue farther down the route they should have arrived around the entrance to the ski area...”

“I’ll go and check around,” Hisoka stands up, tugging his knitted hat down over his eyebrows despite strands of flyaway hair every which way. The Director opens her mouth, clearly about to object, but Hisoka gives her a smile. “It’s okay, I won’t go far. Just around the entrance.”

Tsumugi looks like he’s about to protest, too, but then seems to think twice about it. “Be careful, Hisoka-kun. The snow is getting heavier so please come back as soon as possible.”

And it’s supposed to be a relaxing pre-Christmas vacation for the entire Mankai company, too. Chikage supposes that it just won’t be life in Mankai Company if it’s not filled with unbelievably fiction-like incidents like this. He ignores Guy and Tsumugi’s conferring with the Director—“Should we tell Sakyo-san?” and “Is it not better to alert the others as well?”—and follows Hisoka to the inn’s entrance.

“Hey,” he catches Hisoka’s wrist. “Do you need me to come with you?”

Hisoka stares at his fingers, locking around a pale wrist, before looking up to find Chikage’s eyes and shakes his head. “It’ll be fine,” he tells Chikage. “Chikage just stay here and don’t freak out.”

Chikage stares at him, feeling somehow offended. “I do not freak out.”

Hisoka flashes him a smile. “I guess you don’t.”

He watches Hisoka’s figure disappear into the pure white expanse of snow like he belonge to the storm, before closing the door and turning around. Tsumugi seems to be trying to contact Tasuku’s phone again, and the Director and Guy are now spreading open the ski area map, discussing which way they should start searching once the snowstorm ends. Chikage wonders if he should offer to make them hot cocoa or something, or if he should call Omi down to ask him to make hot cocoa, or if—

 _Don’t freak out_ , Hisoka had said. Chikage snorts because it takes a lot for him to freak out, and a tiny incident like this is not going to make him freak out.

...but maybe he should have stuck a tracker on Hisoka before he went out, just now.

Either way, there isn’t much he can do at this point without the help of his computer,  so he goes to the kitchen and makes five mugs of spiced hot cocoa to leave on the coffee table. If Hisoka comes back after the hot cocoa gets cold, it’s his own fault, Chikage thinks scathingly. Guy gives him a grateful nod when he hands him a mug—the slight smile on the self-proclaimed android’s lips when he sips the hot drink sparks a sort of pride in Chikage. It takes a while to perfect this drink, after all.

It takes him about an hour of waiting before he gives up because one, Hisoka is not coming back, and two, the snowstorm has gotten heavier and the wind outside is howling violently. _Don’t freak out_ , Hisoka had told him, and Chikage finds himself thinking, _fuck you, I’ll overreact whenever I want,_ and goes up to the spring troupe’s shared room to get his laptop.

March is predictably not pleased that he’s contacting her again, but at least this time he doesn’t have to call her directly and can just resort to pinging her through a scrambled code via an old instant messaging app. By the time he’s done working through the code she sends him,  he gets an incredibly detailed satellite sweep up image of the ski area, with pinpointed heat signatures, and a clear idea of where the missing people are.

He’s not even surprised that Hisoka’s heat signature is with the other three winter troupe members. The guy probably finds the others but couldn’t head back due to the snowstorm getting heavier. Chikage just hopes no one is injured.

He goes back down, finds that most of the company members have joined the remaining winter troupe in an circle of worry and anxiety. Guy meets him halfway and murmurs under his breath, “Tsukioka is calling Takato’s brother, see if there’s any way we can get a response team up here.”

Chikage raises an eyebrow. “I see...? There’s not—I don’t think they can do anything in this storm either. We have to mobilize ourselves, or wait until the storm is over.”

“That’s what we thought, too, but Tsumugi-san thinks we should try, at least,” the Director says. She peers up at Chikage, seemingly studying him for a moment before she nods to herself and asks, “did you get anything, Chikage-san?”

Chikage is honestly not sure how the Director always manages to see through him. He sighs, and takes a marker to the map they still have spread out on the table. “I was checking the terrain for this whole area earlier, and found out that there’s this little.. valley? Some sort of crevice?” He draws a short line down from the old rail tracks towards the foot of the hill. “It’s narrow but it’s not very steep, but I think it’d be a good shelter from the storm.”

Tsumugi joins them, eyes bright. “Knowing Tasuku, he probably has everyone take shelter from the storm there instead of pressing on. It’s not far from the old train tracks.” He catches Chikage’s eyes. “Do you think Hisoka-kun would have found them?”

Chikage nods. “He said he was going around the entrance area, but I doubt he stopped there. If he’d gone up towards where the old train tracks is, he would have seen the crevice.”

“We should wait for the storm to end,” the Director decides, glancing over to an approving Sakyo. “We should be able to go down and pick them up, once it clears up. If.. if it doesn’t clear up until evening—“

She hesitates, biting her lips, and Chikage places a hand on her shoulder.

“If it doesn’t,” he says, because this is his promise, “I’ll find a way.”

The sky doesn’t clear up until evening, but the storm lightens considerably that Chikage manages to wrangle (or more accurately, bribe) some of the local workers to go out with him to check the crevice. Sakyo sends Sakoda out with him, too, and Omi, Tsuzuru, and Juuza volunteer to come because they’re pretty much the company’s muscles when it comes to manpower. They set out before the clock hits seven with flashlights in hand, post-storm wind slapping them in the face as they trudge through the snow up to where Chikage had pinpointed the location, and find the crevice within half an hour.

With it, Hisoka’s voice, “I thought I said not to freak out.”

Chikage shoots the flashlight straight down the tiny cave in the crevice at Hisoka’s face, just because he can, earning a soft protest from the younger man. “No one is freaking out.”

“Utsuki,” Tasuku calls out in relief, and there’s Azuma’s familiar chuckle right behind him, “Well, we’re close to freaking out in here.”

“As beautiful it is to spend the night within the howling storm,” and there comes Homare’s flowery words, the lilt somehow still steady despite te syllables spoken through chattering teeth. “The fiery heat and warm comfort beckons more! Let us return to the inn at once!”

They end up basically fishing the winter troupe members out with a rope because the slope is too slippery for anyone to climb. Tasuku’s grip on Chikage’s shoulder is steady and strong still, despite him hobbling with a sprained ankle, which apparently was the reason why Azuma and Homare had stuck behind with him before the storm. No one else is injured, though, and they all manage to return to the inn where the wonderful heat of the fireplace and the hot spiced cocoa awaits before the clock strikes eight.

Hisoka takes a moment to plunge a single marshmallow into his mug afterwards. “As a thank you,” he tells Chikage softly, but there’s a smile hidden behind the mug when he sips his drink. “But next time, you don’t need to freak out.”

Chikage pushes at his shoulder gently. “I do not.”

——- **o0o** ——-

Among the flower bouquets he gets for the next Spring Troupe play, there is an unnamed flowers marked with a _3_ , and a kind message of _stop overreacting so much_. Chikage places the flowers on the common room for about a week before it wilts, and watches Tsumugi and Misumi take care of it.

He writes back, about two months later. A coded message left in a scrambled phone call for March to find.

_Shut up. It’s my family. Of course I overreact sometimes._

__

__

_Thanks._

And Chikage comes home to flowers that bloom in the inner-garden, dinner spread befitting of Kings, laughter and warmth brighter than everything he has ever touched before, and he vows, over and over again, to protect.

Because this is a place he’ll come home to, and a place where his family waits.

——- **o0o** ——-

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO WANNA KNOW WHAT OMI WAS DOING GOING TO THE SPRING TROUPE ROOM well then please come on a omitsuzu ride with me they’re very soft and nice i promise (please):
> 
>  
> 
> the words i weave, the words you leave. 
> 
> (for some reason the link won’t work ap3 why but uhhh it’s the second story in this series so go on ahead)
> 
> In all seriousness though if it’s not your cup of tea please ignore this shameless omitsuzu plug lol


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